Last night I was looking through all these journal entries for photos to show a friend who wanted to see pictures of my rather round self. It was really something: in seven or eight months I've written copiously about this very odd journey (odd to me, even if the greater world at large finds it rather a mundane activity, as it should) and while not every entry is a wealth of insight, or even very interesting, it is certainly a well documented event. And then I realized that I may very well not have the luxury to update about the best part: the bun himself when he makes his appearance. Which made me sort of wistful...all these words flowing about a little person I haven't even met yet, and then when he comes, I won't have the time to wax poetic (or pathetic, or something) about him. Sure, I'll be burping him and cleaning him and holding him and loving him and completely confused and generally mystified as to how this kind of thing can happen, but I won't actually be able to write about it.
And that's okay, because really, who wants to hear yet another parent rambling on about "blah blah blah, my kid's so great, lookit his dirty diaper, isn't it adorable?" No-one. Not even me.
But for the bun's sake, just in case you (the bun) ever go back into the annals of the "pregnancy documents," know this: there wasn't a lot written about your first few formative months because we were up late changing your pants and singing little dumb songs to you. We were very busy learning how to be parents, which entailed a lot of hours and dedication, but was totally worth it.
So the lack of words doesn't mean any lack of interest in documenting your brand new life. We were probably just trying to get a couple hours of sleep between feedings.